


(can't) keep it casual

by fromaseance



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Writing & Publishing, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Creampie, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Forgive Me, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mutual Pining, Office Sex, porn with a little bit of plot if you squint tbh, very self-indulgent too you have been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24772534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromaseance/pseuds/fromaseance
Summary: “Jaehyunnie,” Taeyong practically breathes out, voice a hushed sigh and breath brushing against that sensitive spot behind Jaehyun’s ear. “I said I miss you.”Jaehyun swallows. He ignores the question that comes implied with Taeyong’s admission (‘Don’t you miss me too?’), choosing instead to focus on keeping his grip on Taeyong’s waist firm and steady, on making sure they don’t tip over and fall from the seat.It’s only when he feels Taeyong kiss down the side of his jaw to mouth at his throat that he raises one hand to wrap around the elder’s arm and warns, “Taeyong.”Or the one where Taeyong shows up at Jaehyun's office after nearly a month of absence and causes a storm.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 60
Kudos: 535





	(can't) keep it casual

**Author's Note:**

> this is unethical and unprofessional on so many levels. but, hey, it's also fictional, so enjoy! and if you need someone to blame, have it be jaeyong in nct 127's "office final round" series.
> 
> (additional notes for some details in the fic: james joyce is a well-known irish writer from the 20th century who wrote steamy love letters to his then lover and later wife nora barnacle. the title of taeyong’s last manuscript in this fic references his short story “a painful case,” while the poem included here as taeyong’s is a parody of [ this poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=13883).)

“ _Please_ tell me you didn’t let him in,” Jaehyun speaks into the receiver, voice landing somewhere between a sigh and a drawn-out groan.

At once his eyes dart from his desk to the small, yellow note stuck carelessly to the center of the tabletop calendar to his right, which bore the prominence of a looming deadline in red, bolded letters: ‘TOMORROW. OR ELSE,’ it reads, and Jaehyun feels himself deflate.

There’s a second during which dread sets off a mini whirlpool in his stomach, before his gaze takes him to the analog clock mounted above his office door and allows for two facts to strike him like a bludgeon to the head: first, that he has a little over two hours left before the building closes down for the night and, second, that there is no way he’ll be able to make the most out of that time with what's happening now.

Jaehyun lets his back fall heavily against his chair. “ _Fuck_.”

He has been working on the same damned manuscript for weeks—who it belongs to, Jaehyun despises to recall. “Only our best author, and therefore also our best client,” Johnny—his best-friend-slash-business-partner—had announced over coffee about a month ago, just before the elder bent to the briefcase by his feet and dropped one of those familiar expandable envelopes onto the table and under Jaehyun’s nose, nearly hitting a porcelain cup as he did so. It would’ve been a mess had it not been for Jaehyun’s beverage-saving reflexes, but not one comparable to the pandemonium inside what Johnny laid out.

“As you know, Mr. Lee’s a bit... well, eccentric, to say the least,” Johnny said with a clearing of the throat. “I don’t really approve of the plans he has for this one, as it’s against what we usually do, but acquisitions said he sternly specified wanting this to be read only once, so I thought it’d be best to hand it over directly to you.”

“Alright.” Jaehyun nodded then, already skeptical, as he raised the rescued cup in his hand to his lips. He allowed himself a sip and a sigh before he set the cup down and finally peeked inside the envelope.

He doesn’t remember having any high expectations (a learned trade, which has proven useful to him when it came to certain writers, specifically the haughty ones), but he does remember wincing once upon seeing the height of the manuscript and reading its title for the first time ( _The Whale in the Sky_ by Lee Taeyong), and then again when Johnny said, "I think Mr. Lee's taken quite a liking to you. Heard he personally dropped that manuscript off and looked for you when he did. Couldn't believe it. Mr. Lee, in the flesh, and not his mail courier. Are you sure nothing's going on between you two?"

Grunting, Jaehyun sinks in his seat. Screw Johnny. Screw deadlines and the abstract concept of time. Screw postmodernists who think they can subvert everything, even the grand linear narrative of time—

“Hyung?” Mark croaks from the other end of the line, voice single-handedly stopping Jaehyun’s train of thought from deviating off the rails of his sanity. “Still there?”

At that, Jaehyun straightens himself, tries his best to keep his agitation from spilling onto the wrong person; besides, Mark hasn’t done anything wrong, well, except maybe for how he was unable to stop the person who’s hypothetically making his way to Jaehyun’s office right now.

“Sorry,” Jaehyun apologizes. “What did he say he needed again?”

“I did try to find out more,” Mark explains, “but he just walked past me and went straight into the elevator after he said he wanted to see you. I couldn't do anything. He said he's _The_ Mr. Lee, so I just assumed he's here for an appointment with you and— Ah, I’m really sorry, hyung. I should've looked at your schedule first."

Jaehyun blinks. “No, it’s okay,” he says as he idly bounces one leg. “Thanks for telling me, Mark. But you should head home after this. It’s late.”

“You sure, hyung? Johnny-hyung said—”

“Mark. I’m sure. Thanks, but I need you to head home first tonight.”

“Okay.”

"And by the way, I know Johnny said you can call him your hyung. But, as much as possible, address him as 'Mr. Seo' when you're still at work."

As though unruffled by the recent development to his otherwise normal workday, Jaehyun goes with the motions, humming at Mark’s _“Got it,”_ and follow-up _"But is it really Mr. Lee? You’re friends?"_ before placing the phone down and turning his attention back to the 800-paged behemoth on his desk.

Again, Jaehyun thinks, screw postmodernists, but specifically _one_. He has work to do. A deadline to chase and hold down by the neck at the finish line. Truly, it’s not that he doesn’t mind the fact that Taeyong’s most probably only moments away from storming inside his office. He knows well how _‘I want to see you’_ translates in Taeyong’s language. But the urge to finally cross out the yellow note on his calendar trumps anything involving the elder, Jaehyun tells himself, and so, with his red pen back in his hand, he continues sifting through the mountain of paper before him.

Sooner than expected, the door to his office creaks open, after which he hears footsteps signifying the casual entrance of a familiar mess of limbs which he assumes to be bundled in a suit and a smug smile. Another creak, and Jaehyun doesn’t miss it: the click of the lock. However, he makes no acknowledgment of this, nor of the intrusion.

It’s not like he needs to. For Jaehyun, it’s not necessary to turn and face the doorway to know what Taeyong is up to. After all, Taeyong had already visited his office in the past for more times than he can count; as a result, even before Jaehyun himself grew aware of it, he had committed to memory all the things the elder liked to do after stepping inside his workspace. A small thud meant that Taeyong had let his messenger bag fall onto the floor. The few seconds of stillness right after that stand for the routine undressing, which usually caused a coat and a tie to be discarded carelessly around the room and—if Jaehyun was extra unlucky on the day of the visit—a few buttons left undone on a dress shirt. Then, the muffled sound of feet against the carpet means Taeyong is either making his way towards Jaehyun or the leather couch at the right side of the room—Jaehyun always wishes Taeyong would do the latter. And finally:

“Jaehyunnie,” Taeyong calls.

As expected, Jaehyun tells himself, just before he lets go of a sigh.

From the way Taeyong’s voice sounded, there is no doubt that he took the couch. For all Jaehyun knows, the elder is probably already lying on it with his shoes still on. Wincing at the mental image of his throw pillows stained by dirt from Taeyong’s shoes, Jaehyun grips the pen in his hand just a little bit harder. Screw men who can afford nice shoes (and look good in them) but can’t spare a penny for a whit of decency, he thinks.

“What are you doing here?” he asks shortly after, eyes unyielding from the imposing blocks of text under the tip of his pen. There’s really no point in asking— _this,_ he knows. The answer will always be the same, but he does so anyway, if only to imply—no matter how futile—that he doesn’t acknowledge this situation to still be customary for him and Taeyong, especially after what happened last time. "It's past office hours."

"The receptionist downstairs couldn't believe it when I gave him my business card. He looked so stunned," Taeyong says, laughing. With a quick glance to the side, Jaehyun catches him casually examining his fingernails, as though seconds away from rekindling that nervous habit of his which Jaehyun has become familiar with. "Is he new? What's he still doing here so late? Even the hallways have turned into ghost towns of their own already."

Jaehyun decides to let the evasion pass, at least for now. "The name's Mark,” he says. “He’s only been here for a month. Works overtime during weekends to make sure I don't overwork myself—I know, it’s pointless and paradoxical, but it’s Johnny's orders. Though sometimes, like today, he does it to catch a ride home.”

"I see." Taeyong hums. “It’s clever. Johnny’s finally using guilt to cure your workaholism. Doubt it’s effective though.”

“It is. Sometimes.”

A pause. Then, Taeyong asks, “So this Mark kid. You give him a lift on your car?”

“He’s only two years younger than I am. Hardly a kid.”

“But, yeah, on your car?”

“Of course. How else?”

“Beats me,” Taeyong says. "He's cute."

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. It's nothing like that, he finds himself wanting to argue, but smothers the urge as soon as it surfaces. Instead, he asks, in the most nonchalant voice he can muster, "You think so?"

Taeyong doesn’t respond, only gives him silence and the occasional sound of limbs shifting and shuffling on the couch.

Soon, the monotonous rustling from Jaehyun's fingers leafing through pages fills the room, hits against the concrete walls and ricochets into Jaehyun's ears and patience. Despite this, Jaehyun continues to work. He ignores the weight of Taeyong’s stare which he feels to be on the back of his head, ignores the way Taeyong’s eyes seem to be digging holes into his whole being. It doesn’t take long, however, before he finally relents and decides to prod, finding the gnawing feeling that comes with Taeyong's uncharacteristic reticence more unbearable than the usual garrulousness.

“Okay, why are you here?” Jaehyun tries again, one hand coming up to massage the tension coiling around his nape. "What do you want?"

"Ouch," Taeyong mock-gasps. "I know you said I shouldn't come here again after last time, but I had no idea I was _this_ unwelcome."

“Look, _hyung_ , I'm busy. And last time was supposed to be—”

“The end of it, I know. Calm down,” Taeyong cuts him off abruptly, the precision of it sharp and final as always. “I came here for business. Needed to drop something off," Taeyong continues. "It's a collection of short poems and vignettes. Sort of a manifesto, actually. I think you'll like it. In fact, I think it's my best work yet."

Jaehyun halts from marking the manuscript on his desk to throw Taeyong a glance. "Is that all?"

“Yes. Why, did you expect something more, my _dongsaeng_?” comes Taeyong’s immediate response, voice reminiscent of the last time Jaehyun heard it as a taunt pressed against his skin. “The honorifics always come out when you want to get rid of me. I get the message. I shouldn’t have come.”

Jaehyun doesn’t know exactly how long he takes to answer that, but hearing Taeyong shift and move around on the couch more than once is enough to assume it must be long enough for him to be considered momentarily speechless, which he admits he kind of is. Lifting the hand he has over his neck, he lets his fingers rake roughly through his hair in exasperation as he says, “You and I both know you could've just sent whatever you wanted to drop off by courier, like always." He turns on his swivel chair to finally face Taeyong, who he finds sitting on the couch across him with his coat and tie on the floor and the first two buttons of his dress shirt undone. Sighing at the display, he continues, “So you _showing up_ sends another message. Makes me think you came here to fuck with me again."

Taeyong stares him down briefly, eyes piercing for a moment as though willing him to reconsider, but they soften soon after as he tilts his head to flash a small smile. “No,” he answers, suddenly sounding tired. “I have no intention of doing that today.”

“Good." Jaehyun sighs visibly in relief, albeit a little taken aback by Taeyong’s answer. After all, he only knows Taeyong to bug him at the office for one specific, always badly-timed reason. It isn’t in Taeyong’s nature either to stop without getting what he wants. That is, of course, unless Jaehyun isn’t reading him right today. “That’s good,” he repeats, hazarding a questioning look towards the elder before quickly turning back to his work when he doesn't receive a reaction.

But not even a split-second later, Taeyong interrupts again, this time lamenting in a manner that proves Jaehyun’s suspicion. "Ah, if I had known I was going to be received like this, I definitely wouldn't have come! Is this what I get for relying too much on being your most-valued client and friend?"

 _Friend_. Jaehyun scoffs. That's the only other thing Taeyong is good at besides being a huge pain in the ass. Or, perhaps more accurately, wanting others to cause a huge pain up his ass in the most literal, absolutely non-metaphorical way. Being Taeyong's friend, in Jaehyun’s experience, also meant sticking it in and coming inside Taeyong's ass or mouth every now and then.

"Appointment," he says. "You should've asked for an appointment if you wanted to be welcomed warmly, hyung. I could've even gotten you a little salver with some coffee or tea."

"Say I had one,” Taeyong proposes, moving to lean against the couch with one leg crossed on top of the other, “then would you bend over for me to serve it? Pour me a drink over this low table?"

Jaehyun shrugs, tries not to pay attention to the impression of the elder’s figure at the edge of his vision. "I can be a good host when I want to be."

Taeyong throws his head back to laugh. A moment later he says, "Okay then. Try being a good one now and tell me how it is,” which Jaehyun interprets is a statement made in reference to the manuscript on his desk. “Is it worth anything to the wise Jung Jaehyun?"

Jaehyun frowns, not particularly fond of how easily Taeyong managed to shift the conversation, but reconsiders anyway, if only in light of the topic’s sensitivity. He places his pen down before he answers, “To tell you honestly, I was compelled to dismiss it as another James Joyce rip-off at first, but it proved to be original as I read more. Poignant, even.” He pauses to clear his throat, then continues, “I think, after a revision or two, it could be something even more worthwhile than it already is."

"For real?" Taeyong gawks at him—whether in response to the statement or the fact that his question was taken seriously, Jaehyun doesn’t exactly know.

“Yes,” Jaehyun mumbles, nodding to himself more than the elder. What else can he say or _should_ he say, he asks himself. He shouldn’t worry, he decides eventually, shaking his head as he does so. The time they spent away from each other couldn’t have done anything to soften the Taeyong he knows.

“You really mean it? You’re not thinking of trimming it down like the last one?”

"Yes. Why are you so surprised?"

Silence. When Jaehyun steals a glance to his side, he finds the elder no longer sitting but rather lying supine on the couch with his arms folded over his chest. It’s as if he’s staring at the sky looking for stars, even when the acoustic ceiling in Jaehyun’s office can only afford him a constellation of cracks on tiles.

"You're not kidding," Taeyong says later. "You're serious."

Despite not being in the elder’s line-of-sight, Jaehyun shrugs. "You know," he begins, once again turning around in his seat to face Taeyong, "for someone who had the gall to write something so experimental, not to mention send instructions for it to be read only once, I had expected you to be more confident. Guess you're not so much of the James Joyce you think you are."

For a moment, Jaehyun wonders if what he just said is out of line—whatever _that_ even meant for them nowadays. Are there other lines left aside from the one he had drawn between him and Taeyong after that day almost a month ago?

“I never planned to be anything remotely near the man, nor do I want to,” Taeyong tuts, raising one arm up towards the ceiling as though to reach for something before him. “I’d rather be Nora. You’ve read the letters he wrote for her, haven’t you?”

Jaehyun nods. Of course he has read them. He’d seen a copy of Joyce’s love letters in book-form on Taeyong’s nightstand the third time they slept together. Remembers skimming through a few pages upon waking up with Taeyong still asleep beside him. To buy the same copy at the first bookstore he passed by on his way home from Taeyong’s apartment had been a fatal miscalculation, one only outranked by the other fatal and arguably heavier miscalculations made afterwards: reading the whole book out of curiosity (definitely not in an attempt to better understand the stranger Taeyong was to him back then), agreeing to Taeyong’s suggestion to “keep things casual,” and then ending up loose-limbed and spent in Taeyong's bed or on his office's couch more than once in the weeks that followed.

“My darling Nora, my little wild-flower of the hedges,” Taeyong declares, no doubt quoting the book in question from memory now, his arms suddenly spread wide and his voice breathless and sonorous—the picture of a charming orator. “Sweetheart, answer me. My sweet little whorish _Taeyong_. My dirty little fuckbird!— Really, who would rather be the writer in such a situation where one could be written about so desperately?”

Jaehyun makes a face. “I don’t know which concerns me more,” he says. “The fact that you like to be addressed that way, or the fact that I’m not surprised that you do.”

Taeyong doesn’t miss a beat when he quips, “The fact that you don’t dirty talk me enough in the bedroom even with the knowledge that I’m _very_ into it and would probably come untouched more often if you did, which is a shame, really.”

Jaehyun stills. There’s an image or two in his head, each a documentation of how Taeyong’s neck and chest tend to flush red whenever he starts getting pleasured the right way. A sound echoes from one of the images that sees his hand curled tightly around Taeyong’s hair while taking the elder from behind, a sound which Jaehyun shivers to recall now: _Hurt me– Ah– Fuck, Jaehyunnie– Fuck, like that, yes– You can– Never– Hurt me– Enough–_

Not that he would ever want to, Jaehyun admits, sighing. “You’re really into all kinds of degradation, huh? Be it moral, spiritual, or physical,” he remarks with an air of defeat, knowing very well where all of this is heading.

Taeyong nods.

At that, Jaehyun says, opening his arms fully as though to welcome Taeyong into his space, “Well, come on then, my little fuckbird. Hand me the envelope so I can set you free. I’m very busy.”

A laugh. Then, “But aren’t you always busy?” Taeyong chirps, smile wild and ravishing as he moves to sit up on the couch. He’s in a state of heedless disarray now, Jaehyun observes: the smile loose, the brown hair ruffled this way and that, and the third button of his shirt somehow popped now and allowing for a peek at the faint chain of a silver necklace and the beginnings of his collarbones.

Jaehyun tries his best not to stare. “Took you long enough to notice.”

“Figured that was the case after you said I shouldn’t visit anymore.”

“And yet here you are. _Visiting._ ”

“On official business. Fuck appointments—you stopped coming over.”

“So my absence was noted.”

“How couldn’t it be? It’s been weeks.”

"And that strikes you as astonishing, how?"

A frown. "You're still upset then."

“I am not. I was never,” Jaehyun says. Squaring his shoulders, he turns a page and wills his hand to work again. “Like I said, I’m busy. Busier than ever, actually. For that, I have your book to thank. Besides, wasn’t the whole thing supposed to be casual?”

“Was it because Johnny almost saw us last time?”

Jaehyun shakes his head.

"Because I fucked you and left without going to your place for dinner like you wanted me to?"

" _Asked_ you to, and you promised to come, by the way," Jaehyun corrects him, gaze dropping from the manuscript to the floor. "But no. It's not that either. You did me a favor by not coming over that night, actually," he adds. "Didn't have to wake early to make breakfast with all the leftovers."

For a good moment, Taeyong only stares. “Don’t tell me it’s because you think doing it in your office is unprofessional.” He clicks his tongue. “You’ve fucked me here for more times than my hand can count, more than enough for you to have stopped us halfway. You don’t think with your dick, do you, Jaehyunnie?”

Jaehyun feels heat rise to his neck and ears. Indignance blooms in his chest, causing him to say, “Not like I need to think with anything else when it comes to this. Right, hyung?”

"That's not the point," Taeyong says.

"Then what is—"

“I miss you.”

A beat, followed by the sounds of crinkling leather and approaching footsteps. Then, Jaehyun feels his chair turn around. He isn’t given enough time to react, however, as he finds himself effectively shut up by the look of what appears to be genuine concern across Taeyong's face.

What happens afterwards happens too fast and too close for Jaehyun’s liking. Taeyong places a hand on each of Jaehyun’s shoulders and, within a second, uses them as leverage as he climbs into the younger’s lap without warning, thighs landing spread on either side of Jaehyun’s hips, pushing and causing Jaehyun’s chair to skid backwards and crash against the desk. Fortunately, the collision doesn’t set them off balance. It does, however, make Jaehyun grunt as a response to the impact on his back, which he feels to be almost identical to that of a punch to the gut.

When he comes back to his senses, he finds his hands on either side of Taeyong’s waist and Taeyong’s full weight pressing down on his crotch. It’s a bit disorienting, to say the least, and he is only in the middle of making sense of the situational whiplash when he feels something simultaneously hot and wet touch the space where his jaw meets the soft skin below his right ear. “What—” he starts, eyes widening just before he catches a whiff of Taeyong’s perfume and realizes that Taeyong had leaned forward to press a lewd, open-mouthed kiss against his skin.

“ _Jaehyunnie_ ,” Taeyong practically breathes out, voice a hushed sigh and breath brushing against that sensitive spot behind Jaehyun’s ear. “I said I miss you.”

Jaehyun swallows. He ignores the question that comes implied with Taeyong’s admission ( _‘Don’t you miss me too?’_ ), choosing instead to focus on keeping his grip on Taeyong’s waist firm and steady, on making sure they don’t tip over and fall from the seat.

It’s only when he feels Taeyong kiss down the side of his jaw to mouth at his throat that he raises one hand to wrap around the elder’s arm and warns, “ _Taeyong._ ”

“Let me,” Taeyong says as he cups Jaehyun’s face with both hands. Like this, he gives the corner of Jaehyun’s mouth a kiss, smiling as he presses his lips and his words against Jaehyun’s cheek. “You called me your little fuckbird earlier, so I thought you wouldn’t mind if I perched myself on top of you for a bit, just like this. Let me."

Jaehyun dips his chin to his chest. “And if I don’t let you?” he asks, though he knows that, at this point, there's really only one way to get out of this situation fast, and that way involves giving Taeyong what he wants. To satisfy Taeyong is to get it over with, he tells himself. And so he forgoes resisting, even before Taeyong answers his question. Jaehyun lets it come and lets it happen, lets Taeyong tip his chin up and look at him as though asking for permission before leaning in to press their lips together—careful at first, before their kisses unravel into something deeper and filthier after Taeyong breathes, _"I only take what you give me,"_ and swipes his tongue over Jaehyun’s lips, humming when Jaehyun’s mouth opens without further coaxing.

With hands unmoving on Taeyong's waist, Jaehyun lets himself be kissed and be touched.

It’s not like it takes much from him, he tells himself, as Taeyong tugs at his shirt in a manner he knows all too well, the one that says Taeyong is impatient to touch skin, to have more of him. Another tug brings his shirt loose from being tucked in, and Jaehyun’s breath hitches as Taeyong rides a hand under it and brings his fingers up, up, and up until they rest homely in the middle of Jaehyun’s abdomen and chest.

Jaehyun shivers. Taeyong’s fingers are warm though lithe, their every movement against his skin touch-starved. _I miss you_ , they seem to relay, _touching you like this burns but it doesn’t kill me as much as being away did._ It’s enough to make Jaehyun realize that, in retrospect, it has always been easy, giving what Taeyong wants, mostly because the elder has always been eager to take. All he does, really, is crave to be desired so openly, enough to want to give himself up. It’s _this_ —the relentless giving-and-taking—that has sustained them in the first place.

It’s easy, Jaehyun realizes, because he wants this just as much as Taeyong does, or so he’d like to think.

Unfortunately for him, ‘want’ is something that comes in varying intensities.

“I thought you said you didn’t come here to fuck with me,” Jaehyun says, pulling back to turn away right after Taeyong moans into his mouth.

“I did,” answers Taeyong, voice hoarse yet not less definite for it. His grip around Jaehyun’s shoulders tightens just before he grinds his hips down, causing Jaehyun to groan and sink his fingers deeper into the sides of Taeyong’s waist.

“Then what’s this?” Jaehyun asks. The statement leaves him as a taunt, though he means every bit of it. He wants to know what this is, if it’s any different from the other ones before, if Taeyong means every bit of it the way he wants the elder to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” There’s a split second after the question before the hand Taeyong has over Jaehyun’s stomach dives down to palm the younger tentatively through his pants—two bold strokes and then curled fingers to press down at and cup the outline of Jaehyun’s hardening length. Jaehyun lets out a broken gasp, and it’s here that Taeyong takes the opportunity to lean closer to the crook of the younger’s neck. “I didn’t come here to fuck _with_ you,” he says, his lips against Jaehyun’s skin. Another jerk of the wrist and Jaehyun’s mouth falls open in a muted moan. At this, Taeyong smiles before breathing out, his voice a whole octave deeper, a whole octave needier, “I came here to be fucked _by_ you.”

“You’ll do just that, won’t you?” Taeyong adds. Unsatisfied with the silence, he licks into Jaehyun’s ear for a reaction, smirking when Jaehyun only gapes at him. “When you look at me like that, it feels like you’d do anything for me— _to_ me.”

Well—Jaehyun thinks—it’s not exactly the answer he’s looking for, but Taeyong has a point. Although he won’t ever admit it, he can’t find it in himself to deny that Taeyong is not entirely wrong.

* * *

Out of all the things that Jaehyun did not expect to happen today, getting a phone call while he has two fingers buried deep inside Taeyong's ass is definitely on top of the list. Hell, it wasn't even _on_ the list at first, which is a testament to how much he previously thought this situation to be improbable. Even now, despite feeling his phone vibrate in his pants and hearing its ringing dominate Taeyong's little mewls beside his ear, he refuses to believe it's happening; for someone to call him while he's in the middle of scissoring Taeyong's ass is on all degrees more unthinkable than the presence of aforementioned ass on his lap after nearly a month of absence. And so he ignores it, lets the call die unanswered inside his pocket.

To be fair, none of this was supposed to happen. He never planned _any_ of this. Yet here he was, still fully-clothed and sitting on the three-person leather couch in his office with his head against the back cushion and a fully-naked Taeyong perched comfortably on his lap. Well, okay, maybe not _fully_ naked—that is, if accessories count—Jaehyun corrects himself. His beautiful, stripped Taeyong hyung, for some reason, is still wearing the silver necklace with the minimalist wave-shaped wire pendant that he had given as a gag, a mockery of the elder’s choice of symbols for his recent novel, which Jaehyun is in the process of editing ( _“Whales belong in the ocean, hyung, not the sky”_ ). The necklace's pendant rests delicately between Taeyong's collarbones, Jaehyun observes, as he snatches a glance at Taeyong, only to fail, eyes landing not on the elder's face but on the familiar flush of red that's blooming and crawling up from the whole expanse of Taeyong's chest to his neck.

It's nothing new to Jaehyun. The flush, as he has come to learn, is an indication that Taeyong is liking whatever is being done to him. Aside from the way Taeyong's cock is dripping precum onto Jaehyun's pants and straining so much against his stomach it doubtlessly hurts more than it looks, other indications include the sudden silence. Or is it shyness? Jaehyun asks himself. Is hiding one’s face by pressing it against one side of another person’s head like what Taeyong is doing now a display of shyness?

If anything, it reminds Jaehyun of the first time they did it: on Taeyong's living room floor, while pleasantly buzzed after a few glasses of wine in honor of the successful release of Taeyong's first book under the company. They had kept a strictly business-oriented relationship between editor-and-author then, until Taeyong kissed the laugh off Jaehyun's mouth and Jaehyun, who was left speechless for a minute on the floor, reached up to pull Taeyong by the collar of his shirt and kiss him back just as recklessly, just as hungrily. Taeyong was quiet for the most part, only huffs and clipped whimpers, until Jaehyun flipped them both and started taking him from behind. Their second time, which happened in Jaehyun's office while supposedly setting matters straight after the first night, and the other venereal rendezvouses that followed were much the same—all of them have one thing in common: a Taeyong who became temporarily subdued moments after he was first touched.

No matter the answer, Jaehyun finds Taeyong's spells of noiselessness at the beginning of sex to be amusing and, if he were to be completely honest with himself, also endearing. It's almost as though these episodes are brought on by an impatience to feel good, Jaehyun considers, craving the look he guesses, from experience, must be on the elder's face right now: eyes squeezed shut, a frown conquering the mouth, a slight sheen of sweat across the forehead, and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He's cute, Jaehyun allows himself to think. Really fucking cute.

He's perfect. This, Jaehyun admits as soon as Taeyong speaks up beside his ear and demands, in a voice similar to but not quite yet a gasp, " _Three._ "

Jaehyun shakes his head. "I don't think you can take three. Not yet," he says, before angling his wrist and pushing his fingers knuckle-deep inside Taeyong in an attempt to soothe the elder's frustration.

Taeyong groans, the sound of it like gravel in his throat. "It's _my_ asshole,” he says, kneeling half-heartedly to lift his behind up and away from Jaehyun’s fingers, only to come back down and sink them further into himself for emphasis.

Jaehyun grimaces as Taeyong groans anew. "Your asshole. On _my_ fingers—"

" _Jaehyun._ "

Alright, Jaehyun tells himself as he presses his lips into a thin line. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of Taeyong, notes the way Taeyong’s thighs twitch in response to the action. Then, he blinks, scissoring his index and middle finger to gauge the wetness still clinging onto them as his other hand reaches for the bottle of lube next to the condoms to his left. He decides to take his sweet time with this, pursing his lips as he squeezes out a reasonable amount of the lubricant over the two fingers he’s been using and—because he’s feeling generous—the requested third, all while Taeyong has arms tightening around his shoulders, fingers practically claws in his suit jacket.

Taeyong squirms. “Hurry—” he says, only for his voice to break into a gasp on the second syllable as Jaehyun pushes three slicked fingers through his entrance without warning. “ _Ah_ — _Fuck!_ ” he yelps, his toes curling, knees jerking, back arching, and whole body bucking upwards as though the intrusion was sudden enough to have knocked the air out of his stomach.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jaehyun sneers, albeit using his free hand to massage one of Taeyong’s thighs. The stretch around his fingers is tight, he notes, before attempting to curl them against Taeyong’s walls, only to curse under his breath as soon as Taeyong responds with a guttural moan. It’s the loudest one he’s heard from the elder tonight. “Tell me if it hurts,” he says in an exhale, “I can always switch back—”

“No,” Taeyong hisses. There’s a few seconds of loaded silence between them, which Taeyong appears to spend in getting used to the stretch. Then, untangling his arms from Jaehyun’s shoulders, he pulls back to face the younger and say, “I can take it. Move.”

Jaehyun nods. He pumps his fingers inside Taeyong, swallowing as he watches the elder’s head dip and follows the elder’s line of sight which appears to fall onto the space between their crotches. Taeyong’s cock is wet and veined and straining even more so than earlier, and Jaehyun struggles to keep his sanity in check when Taeyong starts bouncing himself onto his fingers. The movement causes Taeyong's length to slap against his stomach, tiny drops of pre-cum blotching Jaehyun’s suit with every contact that goes even just a little over gentle.

He should have at least taken off his pants before they left the swivel chair for the couch, Jaehyun regrets, groaning as he feels himself grow impossibly harder at the sight of Taeyong getting off on nothing but his fingers. It’s downright pornographic. Everything about Taeyong at the moment is extremely erotic, and Jaehyun can’t believe it. It makes no sense how much the image is arousing him. It’s not like this is his first time having his fingers up and inside Taeyong, much less witnessing Taeyong be this needy. It’s his face, Jaehyun thinks. The reason he’s this affected is because of Taeyong’s gorgeous face, and so he closes his eyes. However, he soon finds this not to be the case, because as soon as he closes his eyes, a new shot of desire rushes through him as he becomes much more aware of all the sounds coming from and around Taeyong: the shallow breaths from the elder’s mouth, the wet slap of Taeyong’s ass against his fingers, the quiet squeaking of the couch which dips in rhythm with Taeyong’s bouncing.

"Fuck," Jaehyun swears under his breath. It’s nearly suffocating, he thinks; with all of Taeyong already burned into his mind and senses, the weeks of separation he spent from the elder prove to be ineffectual—only counting as a temporary escape because, right here and right now, everything still hits him with full force.

It’s in the middle of this over-sensitization that Jaehyun’s phone rings the second time. And Jaehyun curses again, less at the interruption and more at the unexpected wave of vibrations that thrum against his thigh.

“Just. Answer. It,” Taeyong says in between small gasps, at which Jaehyun vehemently shakes his head.

“No way.”

“Might _be_ — Important.”

“It can wait.”

 _It can’t_ , Taeyong seems to say as he removes his hands from where they were set on Jaehyun’s shoulders and fishes the younger’s phone out of his pocket. All of this happens quickly, so much so that when Jaehyun finally snatches his phone away from Taeyong with his free hand, he finds that the elder had already accepted the call.

Just as swiftly, panic rises up from Jaehyun’s stomach to his throat. “Hello?” he manages to say, too flustered by and preoccupied with the fact that his right hand still has fingers stuck inside Taeyong’s ass to have thought about looking at the caller ID first before answering. “Jung Jaehyun, speaking,” he adds. His gaze flits between the expression of mischief on Taeyong’s face and his own right hand, which the elder holds down and keeps in its original position, which is to say with three of its fingers inside Taeyong. Jaehyun kind of wants to cry.

“ _Woah,_ ” the voice from the other side of the call comments, and Jaehyun feels his stomach drop upon recognizing who it belongs to. “Look who’s too busy to check who's calling.”

Jaehyun frets. “Johnny, hi,” he says, before bringing the phone to his face to glance at the screen. It’s Johnny, alright. He speaks into the receiver again, “I’m sorry. I was—”

“It’s alright.” Johnny chuckles. “I’m actually glad you picked up.”

 _I’m not_ , Jaehyun is tempted to say, but one look at Taeyong makes him pause. Taeyong, who has momentarily stopped from stirring, is staring him down with a smile and eyes that speak of a challenge; his hand moves across his crooked mouth in a gesture that means he's zipping, as though to say, _Think you can fuck me with him on call? Go ahead, I'll be quiet._

Jaehyun glares, yet nonetheless gets the message. In retaliation, he shoves his fingers forcefully inside Taeyong in an angle he knows will have them hit that one _spot_ , suppressing the urge to scoff when the elder jerks forwards and exhales hard against his other ear. That's far from quiet, he remarks. Any other day he would have shoved Taeyong off immediately, would have patted the creases on his suit to inexistence, straightened himself, and walked out of the room to take the call as though nothing had happened. Today, however, with Taeyong’s thighs spread open over his hips like anchors to keep his lissome body afloat Jaehyun’s attention and with Taeyong gaping at him now with a look that’s wounded, yet somehow also pleased and taunting—what once was an antagonizing stare just earlier, now gone and replaced by a complex concoction of emotions that’s so characteristically Taeyong—Jaehyun thinks maybe Taeyong needs to be put in his place.

“Jaehyun?” Johnny prods. “You there?”

Jaehyun fakes a cough through gritted teeth. “Yeah, sorry. I was— I just woke up from a nap. I was working,” he says, before pushing his fingers into Taeyong once again and nodding to himself when Taeyong squirms and huffs beside him. “What is it?”

“I wanted to go over some urgent changes for tomorrow’s meeting. It’ll be quick,” Johnny says. “But, before that, Mark told me you sent him home first?”

“I did. I can handle myself, you know.” Jaehyun listens carefully to the pace of Taeyong’s breathing, waits for it to stabilize before he moves his fingers again to massage the elder’s prostate, always stopping right before Taeyong can feel _too_ good. “The kid’s a receptionist, not my personal assistant," he continues, mentally apologizing to Johnny for the situation unfolding before him, even if the other has no means of knowing as long as he and Taeyong keep quiet.

“He might as well be. We pay him extra for it," Johnny says, before he asks, "Why the need to stay late again tonight, anyway?”

It's a question that Jaehyun considers answering honestly. For a moment, he lets himself wonder what would happen if he told Johnny the truth. How would he even say it? That he's staying late because he's screwing their best-selling author inside his office? That he _has_ in fact been screwing their best-selling author for quite some time now and that tonight is a mere variation of their routine? Johnny would be surprised to find out, for sure, maybe even speechless, and Jaehyun would be lying if he says he doesn't want to startle the most equable person he knows. This would be the way to do it, Jaehyun thinks, just before Taeyong moves to lean back and prop himself properly on his lap. The elder stretches his arms behind himself and places both palms flat over Jaehyun's knees—flushed face and chest, perked nipples, and leaking cock presented in full for Jaehyun's viewing pleasure. _Mine,_ a voice inside Jaehyun's head suddenly chants. _Mine, mine, mine, all mine._ And just like that he banishes all considerations of telling Johnny, settling instead for a half-truth. "I need to finish something," he says.

"Mr. Lee's manuscript, right?"

"Yes. Mr. Lee." Jaehyun nods. "We agreed on having me send over the evaluation by tomorrow."

Johnny hums. "Look, Jaehyun, I know the meeting with Mr. Lee and the layout artists is set for next week, but because we got a head-start we have the option to push it further by another week. I’ve told you about this, right? Mr. Lee's schedule is flexible. Besides, I think he'd appreciate the extra time to review the assessed manuscript considering its length."

Despite Jaehyun's efforts to give Johnny most of his attention, 'Mr. Lee' and 'flexible' end up as the only words that he registers, mostly because they're proven the moment they’re said; Taeyong who, up until this point, had been idly watching Jaehyun as he let himself be fingered, finally kneels and guides Jaehyun's hand away from his ass. His thighs twitch and his body curves beautifully in response to the withdrawal as he does this, and a lazy smile blooms on his face before he leans forward again to whisper into Jaehyun's uncovered ear, “Really want you inside now, baby."

"Not that I’m confident I can stop you from working tonight, but you need rest too. We both know you do," Johnny continues, completely oblivious of the fact that the only thing Jaehyun is putting hard work in at the moment is his breathing.

He needs to be quiet, Jaehyun knows that, and being quiet includes monitoring his breathing. But it becomes increasingly difficult not to react, especially now with Taeyong licking and peppering kisses down his body—the corner of his mouth first, then his cheek, jaw, throat, and chest—while undoing the buttons on his shirt and pants. Jaehyun only wishes Johnny doesn't hear the clinking of his belt nor the sound that the zipper of his pants makes as Taeyong, being insufferable as he is, drags its slider down painstakingly slow. Squeezing his eyes close, Jaehyun unknowingly holds his breath, finding the exhale he needs in the sensual pace that Taeyong maintains in handling the rest of what covers his lower extremities. He nods and obliges when Taeyong pats his hips, presumably to urge him to lift them up so his pants and underwear could be pulled down and away from where they aren’t needed.

“I know,” he breathes out, remembering to speak into the phone just before he feels the head of his cock chafe against the material of his underwear, which Taeyong pulls down slowly as he did with his pants. When he opens his eyes, he catches Taeyong gesturing for him to be quiet, after which he feels the elder’s fingers wrap around his length to pump him once—no, twice. Thrice. No. Fuck. Jaehyun foregoes counting, almost failing to suppress a moan when Taeyong continues touching him. Each glide of the fingers around his length comes down faster than the one that precedes it, and so he sits up straighter, in the hopes that doing so will somehow undermine his sensitivity. He’s harder and leaking more than Taeyong is, and this fact mortifies him evenly as it arouses him. “I just want it over,” he tells Johnny through another exhale, toes curling inside his shoes when the breathiness of his voice causes a smirk to grace Taeyong’s face. “It—” Fuck it feels good, Taeyong’s fingers feel so good, Jaehyun thinks, shaking his head. “It’s almost done.”

“Fine. I’ll let you do what you want this time,” Johnny’s voice cackles from the phone. There’s a sigh somewhere in his statement, and then a pause, before he continues to ask, “Anyway, speaking of Mr. Lee, Mark said he came by to drop something off?”

There are things that Jaehyun understands just from looking into Taeyong’s eyes or by observing the elder’s movements. For instance, right now, while Taeyong has one hand spreading lube over his length and another hand pressing weight against his stomach as Taeyong kneels and lifts himself up, Jaehyun reads impatience. Then, from the fact that the condoms to their right remain untouched, greed and recklessness. Jaehyun swallows. He and Taeyong never really made a routine out of doing it raw; one part because the elder is particular about condom use, and another part because doing so would have—in Jaehyun's opinion—further blurred what counts as 'casual' for them. As far as Jaehyun can remember, they've only ever done it raw during times when Taeyong wanted it enough to ask for it. And, right now, the look Taeyong gives tells Jaehyun that he wants it.

"Sorry. Need it tonight," Taeyong purrs softly against Jaehyun's ear, breath fanning hot over Jaehyun's skin. His fingers are wrapped steadily around Jaehyun's length, which he gives another pump before he motions to align it to his entrance, whispering again just before he sinks down, the action slow but deliberate, "Want to feel all of you inside me."

A grunt, and Jaehyun flinches, feeling the tip of his length breach Taeyong’s entrance. Instinctively, his free hand flies to latch onto Taeyong’s waist, where his fingers engrave crescents into the elder's sides as more of him enters Taeyong. Taeyong's unhurried descent onto him drags at the edges of his sanity, making him feel as though he should pull back lest he be swallowed entirely by a heat that will quite possibly send him to his grave. It takes everything in him not to ram up and into Taeyong or force him down—the compulsion hampered only by the shallow breaths that are coming from Taeyong, whose face is buried into the crook of his neck and whose hands claw into his arms for leverage. Does it hurt, he wonders, wishing he could see Taeyong’s face to gauge the situation.

"Shiiit," Jaehyun curses under his breath when he feels himself finally bottom out, only to amend it as soon he remembers the call when Johnny prods him yet again:

"Is Mr. Lee still there?"

He's definitely _here_ alright, Jaehyun thinks, wincing when he feels himself grow inside and against Taeyong's warm walls upon realizing the full gravity of the situation. He’s fucking Taeyong. He’s fucking Taeyong in his office while on a call. "Shit, no— I mean,” he starts, words spilling out of his mouth faster than intended, “ _yes_ , he came by earlier to drop something. Poetry, I think. Haven’t looked. He’s gone now though.”

“I see.”

Silence.

Then, Taeyong starts moving. He rolls his hips tentatively, both hands splayed over Jaehyun’s chest to push the younger against the back cushion before he starts bouncing—starts actually riding Jaehyun.

Taeyong fucks himself onto Jaehyun slowly at first, his movements restrained as though keenly aware of the need to keep quiet. It doesn't take long, however, for him to change pace; being impatient, he eventually starts riding Jaehyun with abandon—rhythm and reason thrown out of his consciousness, it seems, to be replaced by the eagerness to chase pleasure where it hits.

Jaehyun watches quietly as Taeyong reduces him to a point of pleasure. He doesn't make a sound, nor attempts to move. Not that he needs to, he realizes, as Taeyong wordlessly takes control. Even the hand he's been keeping over the elder's thigh is lifted up by Taeyong himself, set to cover Taeyong's mouth and smother moans that are yet to be there. Jaehyun smiles. It's simple. Always has been: he does the giving, and Taeyong handles the taking. If, for whatever reason, he wants it to go another way, he knows he only needs to take initiative and ask; what matters, then, is _if_ and _when_.

"So, what do you think?" Johnny's voice floats back into his consciousness, sharp and clear unlike how it has been for the past few minutes. "Reckon you can do it?"

"Sorry," Jaehyun apologizes to Johnny (verbally, this time), before he shakes out an exhale in response to the wet swipe of tongue that Taeyong gives his palm. "What?"

"The presentation. For tomorrow," Johnny says. "Think you can do it? I just really need a status update from the editorial team. You’re the head, after all."

“Oh.” _Head_ , Jaehyun thinks, his lower head hitting and scraping mindlessly against Taeyong’s insides. "Sure. Of course. I can— I can do that."

A pause. Jaehyun clamps the hand he has over Taeyong's mouth tighter, as if doing so will stamp out the sensation he feels simmering in the pit of his stomach. Predictably, it doesn't. In fact, it works the opposite way as it only makes Taeyong breathe harder, makes Taeyong blow hot gusts of air from his nose and mouth against the skin of Jaehyun's palm. Jaehyun curses himself mentally at this, in disbelief at how much the desperation in Taeyong's breathing arouses him.

"Great. Thanks,” Johnny says. “Really sorry for the late notice. Tell me if there’s anything you need.”

“Yeah— Sure…? Definitely. Will do just that.”

“Well, is there anything?”

A drop down a certain angle sends claws raking along his chest and walls clenching around his cock. Jaehyun grunts, “ _Shit_ — right now?”

“Yeah? I could drive by the office supplies store.” Johnny chuckles. “Or IKEA, if you want. Heard they’ve got a huge sale on selected furniture.”

“Uh, IKEA? No? Nothing— Really— I’m all set— I can— _handle_ it,” he breathes out. The hand he has over Taeyong’s mouth moves down to rest over the elder’s neck, where it issues a light squeeze, if only to mirror the complete breathlessness he feels weighing down his chest and limbs. How much longer can he handle this, he asks himself. How much longer can Taeyong, who looks at him with his eyes unfocused and mouth agape in a muted moan, handle this?

“Hey, man, are you okay? You sound a little… out of breath?”

“Stairs,” Jaehyun’s upper head manages to supply, “Ran downstairs.” There’s no way Johnny could’ve figured it out already, is there, he asks himself, feeling heat consume his face at the possibility. “Out of coffee. Need coffee,” he fibs, forging a narrative he hopes to be compelling enough in its mundanity.

But Johnny only presses forward, friendly concern and curiosity sounding malicious in Jaehyun’s ears, “Pantry’s on the same floor though?”

Again, screw Johnny.

“Sick of it. I’m getting something from the café nearby,” Jaehyun says, eyeing Taeyong’s expression, which seems to have recovered from the hedonistic haze it was mired in with the recent turn of events. Well, screw Taeyong, too—Jaehyun thinks—for being the better half of what let this happen. If there’s another form of screwing out there that goes beyond what they’re doing now, he’d gladly do it to the elder.

“New coffee beans for our editor-in-chief, I see. Will take note of that,” Johnny hums. “But the café for today? You sure you want to go that far? I could order for you and have it delivered instead.”

“I need the walk,” Jaehyun manages to say with finality, at which Taeyong snickers loud enough for Jaehyun’s hand to fly back up and clamp hard over the elder’s mouth in agitation. “I thought you wanted Mark to be my assistant, not yourself,” he says, before Taeyong—who seems to have been displeased by the silencing—sinks down forcefully onto him without warning. In the middle of stifling the groan this retaliation elicits from him, Jaehyun’s teeth find his lower lip, into which they bury themselves hard enough to break through skin.

“Oh, it’s a responsibility that comes with being your business partner and best friend.”

“Honored to have our President Seo take such good care of me.”

“About time.”

“Sure. You’re welcome. Is that all?” Jaehyun finds himself asking, sighing inwardly to alleviate the annoyance he feels creeping into his senses. It’s Taeyong’s influence: this frustration, one that is set ablaze inside of him when his gaze falls to his crotch and he catches sight of the wet and lewd spectacle that is his own cock fucking into Taeyong, sliding inside but never fully outside. This can’t go on for longer, he thinks, especially after he looks up and finds Taeyong’s face clouded once again with want. It makes him repeat the question he realizes he should have asked way earlier, “Johnny, is that all?”

“There’s one last thing. If that’s okay—”

“Wait, Johnny, sorry—” Jaehyun exhales, no longer paying any mind to how he sounds. He should’ve asked the question earlier. He should’ve ended the call as soon as it started. He should’ve looked at Taeyong’s face sooner. He should’ve felt it coming: Taeyong, right now, looks and moves as though he’s only a few seconds away from losing it, from crossing that threshold where he’s able to keep quiet.

“Call you back later,” as soon as these words leave his mouth, Jaehyun ends the call with the hasty swipe of a thumb. With the same sense of urgency, he tosses his phone away; he doesn’t care to look where he sets it flying or where it lands. It doesn’t matter anyway, not as much as the relief he gets from having his suspicion proven when, as soon as he hears a thud and removes his hand from Taeyong’s mouth, Taeyong greets him with a whimper.

“Jaehyunnie— baby, please,” Taeyong sputters, the syllables leaving his mouth exaggerated by a breathiness, “Fuck me, please, fuck up into me.”

Placing hands on either side of Taeyong’s waist, Jaehyun does just as he’s told—not that he needed to be, he wants to say. He thrusts his hips up to meet Taeyong’s bouncing halfway, hands holding onto Taeyong’s waist to pull the elder closer and urge him to stay still. “I’ll do it,” he grunts as he lets his torso bend at an angle against the couch and lowers one hand to spread Taeyong’s cheeks, ramming up into Taeyong to emphasize his point. He wants to see Taeyong feel good because of him, wants to be the only cause of Taeyong’s pleasure, and so he fucks up into Taeyong as he is asked to. “Let me,” he says.

He doesn’t realize the statement to be an echo of Taeyong’s words until later, when Taeyong wraps arms around his shoulders and hides against one side of his head again before obliging: _Let me_ , Jaehyun supposes when he feels Taeyong nod beside him, is shorthand for _‘Let me take what you want to give, what you want taken.’_ Shorthand for them.

“Baby you’re so good,” Taeyong pants against Jaehyun’s ear, which reddens at the press of Taeyong’s lips against its skin, “So good to me. So good fucking inside me—”

Jaehyun’s groans at the praise. He tightens the hold he has around Taeyong’s hips and fucks up harder, if only to shut Taeyong up, reluctant to accept how the elder’s compliments turn him on as much as they make him self-conscious. He doesn’t need to be told he’s doing a good job, he thinks, especially when he can read it from Taeyong without relying on words.

And before long Taeyong begins moaning—the desperate huffs and evidences of breathlessness replaced by vocal pleas corrupted by pleasure. It’s never high-pitched, what comes out of him. Still the same tone as his speaking voice, only rougher, incoherent, and loose enough to dip and come out of his mouth as a guttural groan.

Jaehyun likes the sound of it. Closing his eyes, he focuses on the way Taeyong’s noises blend with his own grunts, the loud slap of skin against skin that echoes inside the room, and the creaking of the couch. Like this, he listens to everything and hears everything, which means he's keenly aware of the series of whimpers that escape Taeyong’s mouth before the swear:

“Fuck— I’m close,” Taeyong tells him, grabbing at his hair and clawing at his shoulders.

Then, Taeyong is pulling him near, hands tightening around his hair and his shoulder, wordlessly urging him to fuck up closer and faster, to chase Taeyong’s orgasm more than his own. But he doesn’t, at least not immediately. Not like this, Jaehyun thinks, not when he can’t see Taeyong’s face.

“Not yet,” Jaehyun says, using one hand to guide Taeyong’s legs around his hips and the other to do the same with Taeyong’s arms around his neck. And, without pulling out, he wraps an arm around Taeyong’s waist; stands up to step out of his pants, underwear, and shoes with a grunt; and flips them both, sending Taeyong to lie on his back on the couch cushion, facing Jaehyun who hovers over him.

A yelp comes out of Taeyong at the sudden change in position. It’s not so much the way his back lands onto the cushion hard enough to jostle the springs underneath, nor how he elbows two throw pillows off the couch with the movement. Rather, it’s the way Jaehyun’s cock managed to stay within him only to thrust forwards right after the drop without warning. “What are you—”

With one knee on the couch and a leg stretched to the floor to support himself as he thrusts, Jaehyun positions himself between Taeyong’s open legs and fucks Taeyong into the cushion. His hand grasps on the headrest for leverage, while his other hand remains latched to Taeyong's waist as he pistons his hips in a rhythm too fast and selfish for Taeyong to comprehend and follow with his exhales.

It’s selfish. Everything that he’s doing at the moment is selfish: to delay Taeyong’s release and to look at Taeyong’s face while he’s being fucked—when all the elder has ever done for majority of today is hide his face as he was being pleasured—are, Jaehyun realizes, self-centered needs he’s built within himself.

For this reason he asks, wanting now to take as much as he has given, but only as much as he's allowed, “Is this okay?” 

" _Yes_. Don't care—" Taeyong gasps, squirming under Jaehyun with his eyes squeezed shut, neck craned to one side, and hands blindly grasping for Jaehyun—whole being in search for release. "’M close. Jaehyunnie— feels so good."

"Hyung, look at me," Jaehyun says. When this doesn’t work, he lowers the hand he has on the headrest to Taeyong's face, which he slowly coaxes to turn to him. And, as expected, Taeyong's eyes are glassy as they are wont to be when he feels overwhelmed. He must really be close as he says, Jaehyun thinks, waiting for those round eyes to meet his before he lets go of a particularly harsh and angled thrust, sending Taeyong to paw at his arms and chest in an instant.

Taeyong seldom touches himself when they fuck, most of the time preferring to have Jaehyun do it for him. _"Because it feels better that way. Your hands are good,"_ Jaehyun remembers the elder say when prompted to explain the tendency before. _"Must be all that editing, Jaehyunnie. The pen's the most phallic symbol of all, you know?"_

Today, however, Taeyong attempts to touch himself, perhaps having already realized that Jaehyun has no plans of jerking him off to a climax anytime soon. His right hand drops from where it has been clawing at Jaehyun’s elbow to land on his crotch, where his fingers motion to wrap around his length and fuck himself while Jaehyun thrusts steadily inside of him. He only manages a meek slide of the wrist before Jaehyun swats his hand away.

Grunting as he shifts all his weight onto his legs, Jaehyun gathers both of Taeyong’s wrists and pins them down to either side of Taeyong, earning him daggers from the elder who writhes below him with vehemence. “Not yet,” he says. “Not like that.”

Taeyong groans. “But I’m so—”

“I’ll do it.”

Jaehyun looks at Taeyong now. Really looks at him, meets his eyes before he pulls at the elder’s wrists and bends him to fuck impossibly closer—flushed ankles nearly up to level with Jaehyun’s shoulders.

“Close— Fuck! Ah—” Taeyong whimpers, the rest of what he wants to say degraded into a litany of ‘ah’s that beat roughly out of his chest to the rhythm of Jaehyun’s deep thrusts.

Taeyong is trembling now, Jaehyun observes, noting the way the elder’s chest labors with each breath and how his hips spasm on their own. Taeyong’s length pulses, too—red and straining against the fold in his stomach where so much precum has gathered it makes him appear as though he has already climaxed once. He’s perfect, Jaehyun admits now; Taeyong is more than what he could ever dream of, the personification of everything he finds he’s been yearning for but couldn’t even begin to search for solely because they never existed until he met the elder. How could he have let himself be apart from Taeyong for those past weeks, Jaehyun asks himself. How could he have thought he’d rid himself of Taeyong?

“Like that— Jaehyun, please— Just. Fuck me,” Taeyong pants, sounding like he’s about to cry. He moves to plant his feet on the couch for a sense of stability, only to fail when Jaehyun’s arms block him, and so he opts instead to curl his toes. “Want to— cum,” he says as he turns his head to one side again. The motion causes a bead of sweat to run down his throat and pool at the dip between his collarbones, where the silver necklace around his neck rests and catches light and, eventually, Jaehyun’s attention.

It was only supposed to be a gag gift: that silver necklace and its wave-shaped pendant. But now, Jaehyun thinks, maybe it could mean so much more—scratch that, it has _always_ meant more. Before the mockery, came an analogy involving how much Taeyong craves recognition and how much he wants to belong with those whose successes have brought them close to the sky, even when all that he’s ever been to Jaehyun is the ocean. Deep, blue, and all-embracing. Home to both tempestuous typhoons and a gentleness that caresses the shore. Cold and dark in the night, but always kind enough to cause trifles to wash over sand, where they lay as wonders awaiting discovery. In varying strengths, Taeyong has touched him, has washed over him, but Jaehyun finds that he only wants more. He wants to drown in him. He already has, he realizes; being casual meant dipping his toes, but Jaehyun finds himself touching the seabed with the soles of his feet, whole being submerged underwater.

Pushing himself forwards as though to dive deeper, Jaehyun kisses the pendant resting in between Taeyong’s collarbones. “Swallow me whole,” he says against Taeyong’s skin before another thrust, “Really— missed you.”

It makes Taeyong’s muscles clench around him hard.

“ _Jaehyunnie,_ ” Taeyong whines and squirms helplessly, unable to do anything with his hands still pinned to his sides.

He glances up with an almost pitiful look in his eyes, and Jaehyun dips closer to kiss him right then and there. Full on the mouth. Hard and heated. Drowning out his whimpers, swallowing his cries. Drowning everything else to drown in Taeyong.

Without unlatching his mouth from Taeyong’s, Jaehyun lets one hand travel down the elder’s body: his throat, first, then his chest, nipples, and down where his fingers are most wanted. Taeyong’s freed hand is quick to follow his, and before long they both reach Taeyong’s stomach. Jaehyun wants to touch Taeyong, to relieve him now as he finds himself close to the edge as well. But right before moves to do just that, Taeyong chokes out a gasp into his mouth and shudders; next thing Jaehyun knows, Taeyong is convulsing and coming under him, cock shooting out ropes of hot white that land onto his own stomach and stain both his and Jaehyun’s hands over his navel.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Jaehyun swears against Taeyong’s mouth, feeling his own orgasm coiling violently inside himself. It’s the way Taeyong’s walls are tightening mercilessly around him, he thinks, swallowing him whole as he continues to fuck the elder through his orgasm. He’s going to come— _this,_ he doesn’t have enough rationality nor time to doubt.

“Coming—” he grunts as he motions to pull out, only to be kept close by Taeyong’s legs locking themselves around his waist.

Like this, Jaehyun comes hard with a swear, spilling all his load—everything he has to give—inside Taeyong. His hips are the only things he manages to still as he comes, thighs and shoulders shuddering uncontrollably, before he fucks his release shallowly into Taeyong, who twists his hips weakly as though to escape the flood of sensation.

Eventually, with his cock still inside Taeyong and with Taeyong’s arms still around his shoulders, Jaehyun stops moving. In this position, they stay immobile for as long as it takes to catch their breaths, the heavy scent of sex hanging over their heads and sticking to their limbs like second skin.

Taeyong’s face is damp, but not solely from sweat, Jaehyun observes as he runs the back of a hand against the elder’s cheek. Wordlessly, he brings it up to thumb at Taeyong’s eyes, which bear the evidence of tears in the damp streaks that run down from their eyelids. Taeyong always tears up when he’s overwhelmed, Jaehyun recalls, feeling a kind of warmth fill his chest at the fact. Without much thought, he dips down to place a chaste kiss over Taeyong’s mouth, only to have them both groaning as the movement causes him to thrust unwittingly inside Taeyong.

Taeyong grunts, then laughs against Jaehyun’s mouth. “At least pull out first.”

“Can’t with your legs still clinging around me, fuckbird.”

Another laugh. Then, Taeyong parts his lips and allows himself to be kissed again, legs and arms all working to pull Jaehyun closer. This time, the kiss unfolds between their mouths slower and deeper—a contrast from the needy kisses they both shared earlier.

It feels impossibly fuller, this kiss—Jaehyun thinks, mind reeling from the breathless way Taeyong is chasing his lips and burying fingers to pull at his hair. The thought of Taeyong kissing him this passionately even after they’ve had sex sends a shot of pleasure down Jaehyun’s groin, and he pulls away from the kiss partly to breath, but mostly to stop himself from growing hard again while still inside the elder.

“Your hair is longer,” Taeyong says as soon as they part, fingers lazily playing with the hair on Jaehyun’s nape before they dip down to slip inside the collar of Jaehyun’s suit. He looks at Jaehyun with an expression that—if Jaehyun didn’t know any better—could be easily mistaken for fondness, for affection: eyes fixed in a soft gaze as they look up at Jaehyun, cheeks flushed, and mouth crooked in a loose smile.

How does Taeyong look when he cares? And does this look come any close to it?

Jaehyun shakes his head. “Yours too,” he says as he wipes the fringe matted over Taeyong’s damp forehead. There’s barely a pause between this action and the next: without another word, Jaehyun untangles Taeyong’s legs from his waist and pulls out. The suddenness of it causes both of them to groan, especially Taeyong, whose voice echoes in the room louder than the obscene squelch that Jaehyun’s length makes as it pulls out of him.

“ _Wow,_ that’s a lot,” Jaehyun remarks, eyes travelling to the cum on Taeyong’s stomach, then down to his own release which drips out of Taeyong in a pace slow enough to be pornographic.

“You could’ve at least warned me,” Taeyong barks at Jaehyun, hands clinging to the younger’s elbows again. His back is arching slightly off the cushion—suggesting the possibility that he’s still very much sensitive even when it’s been more than five minutes since he came. “Asshole,” he scoffs.

And Jaehyun quips, smiling as he wipes the cum from Taeyong’s stomach with his fingers, “Yeah, yours is very full.” He rubs the wetness between the pads of his fingers as though to examine it, quirking his head to one side as he asks, “This much without being touched, hyung? What, you never jerked off since last time?”

“You’re very observant—” Taeyong gasps, feeling Jaehyun’s finger rub and circle along the rim of his hole before it pushes itself halfway inside. “The fuck are you doing—” he spits before he props himself on his elbows to look down towards his crotch and _gets_ it. “Jaehyunnie,” he whimpers suddenly as his elbows give out under him, unbelievably aroused again from the sight of Jaehyun playing with the cum dripping from his hole, coaxing the load out of him with the tip of a finger. It doesn’t go all out of him at once, and so he squirms and paws at the younger’s wrist when Jaehyun practically starts fingering him shallowly in the guise of cleaning him off.

“For real? You never touched yourself?” Jaehyun says, picking up the conversation innocently before he stops, wiping his finger at the nearest clean surface he can find.

“I did. Twice.” Taeyong says as he watches Jaehyun strip one of the throw pillows still on the couch. “Both while thinking of you.”

Jaehyun hums. He uses the pillowcase now in his hand to clean both Taeyong and himself. “Yet still so much came out... It’s either you have a bad imagination or you just don’t know how to pleasure yourself properly, hyung,” he says. “Want me to teach you sometime? Can guarantee you’ll find yourself doing it more than twice in a day.”

“Also consider the possibility that you make bad wet dreams,” Taeyong scoffs, before he crosses his arms over his chest and adds, pursing his lips in a slight pout, “And I’ll pass on that lesson. I’m not made to pleasure myself. You are.”

A pause, which Taeyong breaks with a laugh before he says, “Hey, you really should consider getting a new couch. The springs on this one dug too much against my back. I’ll help you look for one, if you want—”

At that, Jaehyun does something impulsive. He rids himself of the urge to rebut Taeyong’s first statement, to say that the only reason he doesn’t satisfy as much in Taeyong’s wet dreams is because nothing compares to reality, to his physicality; instead, he plants a kiss on Taeyong’s forehead when he dips down to wipe their stomachs, feels something leap up his throat when Taeyong sends him a questioning look as soon as he breaks away.

Whatever that question is, Jaehyun doesn’t find out nor seeks to answer. He only nods to indicate that he’s done wiping them both, that they can dress themselves now before heading to the restroom to spruce up—and they do just that.

Jaehyun’s eyes dart around the office as he slips back into his underwear and pants, and buttons himself up. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s searching for, but he stops when he catches sight of an unfamiliar envelope by the couch’s feet. It’s no doubt the envelope that Taeyong said he had brought with him, and Jaehyun walks over to pick it up as soon as he finishes buttoning his shirt.

“No! Don’t,” Taeyong exclaims, materializing to Jaehyun’s side as soon as the younger motions to look inside the envelope. “Only read it after everyone else in your team has reviewed it,” he explains.

“I wasn’t going to read it.” Jaehyun rolls his eyes, fingers still slipping inside the envelope. “Just wanted to see what you chose to call your next work.”

Once again, Taeyong stops him, hands flying to take the envelope away from his hands.

“Not even a peek?” Jaehyun asks, at which Taeyong shakes his head. “Damn. Alright. I won’t.”

“It’ll be worth the wait, I promise,” Taeyong says, before handing the envelope back to Jaehyun.

Jaehyun shrugs, plopping back down onto the couch. Screw artists, he curses mentally. “It better be.”

“Thank you.”

Then, there’s a kiss on Jaehyun’s cheek, feather-light and quick against the spot where one of Jaehyun’s dimples would be now if he was smiling, before Taeyong moves to collect his pants which hang haphazardly over Jaehyun’s swivel chair. As always, Jaehyun isn’t given enough time to process it, not when Taeyong brushes it off so casually:

“I feel like coffee,” he says, his back facing Jaehyun as he shimmies into his pants. “I forgot my wallet, so you’ll have to take me, Jaehyunnie. Let’s get coffee. That’s what Johnny thinks you’re doing anyway.”

Jaehyun doesn’t answer, looking away when Taeyong starts putting on his dress shirt. Instead, he looks for his phone, which he finds at the far end of the couch.

A message notification sent more than half an hour ago greets him when he unlocks his phone: a text from Johnny. Swiping a thumb over the screen, Jaehyun opens the message, reads it, and then feels heat rise up to his ears the moment he comprehends it:

> **From:** Johnny Seo **  
> Subject:** [no subject]
> 
> [click to view photo attachment: couch_choices_for_jae1.jpeg]
> 
> went to ikea to get you their sale catalogue. just looking out for you.
> 
> your couch creaks too much.

* * *

When Jaehyun turns the engine off, the radio goes with it.

Up ahead, a mass of bodies crosses the main street, some of them bearing faces familiar enough to spark a sense of recognition before they disappear into the building right across. Jaehyun watches them all from inside his parked car, back straight against his seat and hands still wounded around the steering wheel. He tries to remember the names of those he recognizes and, when that doesn't work, moves on to recalling their departments—anything to smother the silence that came right after he switched off the radio.

Silence.

If there is one thing Jaehyun habitually craves for, it is silence. But not just any kind of silence: the good kind of silence. The kind he delights in when reading a book or watching an opera. The kind that he wakes to after sleeping in on a weekend. The kind he affords yet takes advantage of at home and in his office. Certainly, there's a vast difference between these variants of silence and the heraldic kind that comes before, say, an epiphany; the kind that accompanies the forlorn; or the kind that comes after a wonderful night with Taeyong and stretches on for days unexplained.

 _Thunk,_ goes Jaehyun's forehead colliding with the rubber face of the steering wheel. Fortunately, with the engine out, the crash doesn't set off the car horn. What it does do, however, is push scenes from that night last week to the forefront of Jaehyun's consciousness once again.

Jaehyun grimaces. No matter how much he thinks about it, he still can't single out any event from that night that could explain everything that came after, specifically how Taeyong has been—and still is—ignoring him.

After coffee had been an offhanded dinner invitation to his house, which Taeyong accepted. _"Is this to make up for last time?"_ the elder had teased then, to which Jaehyun only scoffed and shook his head as he continued to chop spring onions mercilessly against the wooden board.

Jaehyun remembers the conversation as they ate, as well as the absolute lack of it when he ended up making out with Taeyong who had propped himself up on the kitchen counter, his lips tasting like the wine they drank and his legs wrapping instinctively around Jaehyun’s waist. It had been a string of heated touches and deep, open-mouthed kisses—as how makeout sessions always were between them. But Jaehyun, at that moment, never once thought of going further; he remembers being immensely content with just getting to kiss Taeyong, with kissing Taeyong without intending for any of the presses his mouth made against the elder's to led to sex, with kissing Taeyong in ways that implied he wants to claim the elder's lips for his own and for his own _only_ —

 _Oh_. Jaehyun lifts his head from the steering wheel. Thinking about it now, he considers, maybe _that_ is where and how he fucked up.

Was it possible for Taeyong to have figured it out just from that episode? To have understood Jaehyun's feelings before Jaehyun himself made complete sense of them? And, if the answer to both is 'yes,' is the fact that Jaehyun _likes_ Taeyong more than he's allowed or expected to—that is, more than what counts as 'casual'—undesirable enough to have repelled Taeyong and force him to ignore Jaehyun?

Once more, Jaehyun's forehead meets the steering wheel. He only wants to understand, he laments, so that he could remedy whatever it is that he did wrong (if there's anything in the first place) and have things be normal again with Taeyong. It's not like he desperately wants his feelings to be reciprocated either. If Taeyong didn't like him the way he recently learned he liked the elder, so be it. He finds that he’s okay with that. If that were really the case, he would just have to be content with what Taeyong is willing to give.

Jaehyun groans, knocks his forehead repeatedly against the steering wheel, and then sighs.

Out of all the kinds of silence that exist, it's really Taeyong's that he can't stand the most.

For a good moment, he stays unmoving with his body slumped over the steering wheel, limbs hanging to his sides as though all life had been sucked out of them. Eventually, however, with the LED clock above the stereo reading a quarter until 10AM, he realizes he has to get moving. _Get a grip_ , he tells himself, _you’re probably the only one agonizing over this._

Without another word, Jaehyun begins straightening himself. He fixes his hair, tightens his tie, and collects his things, before finally stepping out and heading for the company building—leaving the silence of the car for the numbing bustle of work and daily life.

"Good morning, how may I— Ah, Jaehyun-hyung! Hi," Mark stutters from behind the desk. "Sorry. I was looking at the logbooks. I didn't know it was you until—"

"It's okay, Mark," Jaehyun says as he places a thumb over the fingerprint scanner next to the logbook in front of the younger to key in his attendance for the workday. "Morning, too. Is Johnny in?"

"Johnny—I mean—Mr. Seo hasn't come in yet, sir— hyung,” Mark says with a shake of the head, stumbling over his words as though today were his first day on the job.

“Alright, thanks,” Jaehyun chuckles. He takes note of the faint blush over Mark's cheeks that reveals itself to him only at second glance. “Guess I’ll be going now. You work well and have a good day.”

He's motioning for the elevator when Mark calls for him and retrieves his attention, "Hyung, really sorry, but. Uhm. I kind of have a question?"

Turning, Jaehyun takes a few steps back. "Sure. What is it?"

There’s a pause which Mark spends fidgeting with the buttons on his sleeves before he answers, "Uhm, last week. That was _The_ Mr. Lee, right?"

Something from Jaehyun’s stomach somersaults and jumps to his throat at the mention of the name. “You’re still hung up on that?” he asks, thinking of all the reasons why Mark is bringing Taeyong up so suddenly. He finds nothing except for the possibility that the younger is one of Taeyong’s avid fans. “But, yes, like I said, that _was_ the Mr. Lee you know about."

Mark stares. The blush over his cheeks deepens a shade and spreads to the bridge of his nose, making Jaehyun think the fanboy hypothesis might just be true.

"Why? Was that your question?" Jaehyun prods, blinking when he hears the phone to Mark’s side come alive with a ring.

Mark jumps at the tone. “Nothing, hyung—” he says as he fumbles to get the phone. A tincture of a thought left unfinished dominates his voice, making Jaehyun stay and wait for him to conclude the call he’d just received.

When Mark speaks to Jaehyun again after putting the phone down, his voice comes out of his throat a pitch higher, “I just think… I just think that Mr. Lee is a very good writer.”

Jaehyun doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Yes. Of course…” he trails, readjusting the hold he has around the handle of his leather bag. “He _is_ one of our best-selling authors.”

“Right.” Mark nods, before he says, “Please tell him that I love his writing, hyung. You’re, uhm, you’re friends, right?”

Jaehyun freezes. Friends. Sure. Right. They never went past that. Might never will. The kiss had been the end of it: _“Actually, I have to go,”_ Taeyong had said then.

"Sure. I’ll let him know,” he says, though not certain he’ll get to do what Mark is asking of him, what with Taeyong giving him the cold shoulder.

“Thanks, hyung,” Mark says, despite giving Jaehyun a quiet yet imploring look; it’s the kind one normally gives when in need of answers. However, for Mark’s case, there’s nothing Jaehyun can give, not without being aware of the question first.

Jaehyun gets a horde of faces like Mark’s as soon as he arrives at his department floor on the way to his office. Or at least he thinks he does. He’s not entirely sure. Certainly, there’s a hush when he waltzes in through the glass doors. But, then again—judging from the way his subordinates look at him as though they’ve spotted a ghost and found themselves mired in a paranormal situation—it might just be because he had chosen to work from home for the past three days. Being the editor-in-chief has its perks, one of them being the option not to work on-site unless necessary—like today, Jaehyun thinks, eyeing the pile of manuscripts on his desk, half of which he considers taking home after the workday.

It’s not until an hour later when Johnny visits his office that Jaehyun is able to make sense of the curious looks he got from Mark and his team.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Johnny greets from the door. “You’ve caused quite an uproar, you know.”

“Why are you here,” Jaehyun deadpans, unamused by the fact that the intrusion had to happen while he’s in the middle of reviewing a manuscript. He doesn’t look up to acknowledge Johnny’s presence when he adds, “What uproar?”

Within a second, three thin strips of paper bearing pictures of different kinds of furniture appear under his nose. He spots the words ‘IKEA’ and ‘SALE’ before his head whips up to face Johnny who has chosen to sit on the edge of his desk.

“Came by to hand you these coupons,” Johnny explains. “You know, in case you find reason soon and finally work on that couch replacement.”

Jaehyun feels his ears color a shade. “I’ve already told you— Last time was—”

“A misunderstanding, I know. Though I doubt that now,” Johnny cuts him off with a laugh. He shifts on his position on Jaehyun’s desk, smiles that clean-cut corporate smile Jaehyun recognizes as the one the elder gives their clients. “But, again, I’m just looking out for you.”

Although Johnny was spot-on about his hunch regarding what had happened last time Taeyong visited the company, indignance still builds a fire in Jaehyun’s chest, and he narrows his eyes when he asks, if only to be consistent with his side of the story, “ _Doubt_?”

Johnny nods. “Yeah. Because of the uproar. You’ve read Mr. Lee’s latest manuscript, haven’t you?”

Glancing to the pile of envelopes he placed at the foot of his desk, Jaehyun shakes his head and answers, “No. I haven’t. I have more urgent deadlines.”

“Well, that’s both a pity and a relief.” Johnny shrugs. Placing both hands inside his pockets, he stands up from Jaehyun’s desk, walks over towards the infamous couch, and somehow offends Jaehyun by not sitting down though his calves are grazing the couch’s feet. The bastard. He’s wearing one of his best suits today, Jaehyun notices, which only means he has important clients to meet and meetings to be at, and thus no reason to be lingering inside Jaehyun’s office. “Pity because it means I can’t properly tease you about it, and relief because it also means I haven’t missed your reaction to it.”

Jaehyun stares. What exactly is Johnny talking about, he asks himself, feeling his shoulders tense at the notion of being completely lost. Again, he drops his gaze to the pile of envelopes near his desk, before eventually bending down to pick up the one he knows belongs to Taeyong.

“Anyway, I look forward to the manuscript review. You have to tell me about it, okay?” Johnny says as he heads for the door. “Your team couldn’t stop talking about it, which is how I caught wind of everything. Even Mark has an opinion. Mr. Lee sent him a complimentary copy. It’s quite decent, if I do say so myself. Very romantic and experimental. Not so sure you’ll consent to it being published, though.”

Jaehyun stills. He looks at the envelope on his lap, which has suddenly taken the appearance of a corporate Pandora’s box. His mind races to think of all the possible narratives Taeyong could come up with given his style and usual topic choice, only to feel trepidation weigh down on his shoulders and arms when he fails to come up with anything that could count as simultaneously ‘experimental’ and ‘romantic.’ As a writer, Taeyong has always been experimental; it’s the romance that Jaehyun can’t fathom or, more accurately, refuses to imagine.

“By the way, Jae, is reference to real people a thing postmodernists do in fiction?” Johnny asks with a hand already on the doorknob.

Jaehyun only wants to be left alone. “I’m pretty sure someone has done it before. Why?”

Johnny hums. “Just asking. You’ll know what I mean once you read Mr. Lee’s work.”

“Alright. I’ll get to it.”

“Well, see you later then,” Johnny says with a smile.

And with that, the door opens with a creak, and then closes to make way for silence.

An unwanted silence. The kind that looms before a life-changing moment or epiphany.

Jaehyun stays unmoving in his seat. His fingers have slipped past the envelope’s seal, but he doesn’t open it, at least not yet. He has no idea what to expect, nor knowledge if this ignorance will serve him or cost him. For all he knows, whatever is inside the envelope could be the reason for the prolonged silence from Taeyong. He only needs to bring it out of the envelope and read it to understand.

And so he does, and what he finds drains the life out of him:

> _A Painful Case of Skeletons in his Office: Why Jung Jaehyun Shouldn't Stop at Boning Lee Taeyong and Consider Dating Him_
> 
> BY LEE TAEYONG
> 
> about 69,000 words
> 
> This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are used in a fictitious manner. However, resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events present in this work are purely intentional and not at all coincidental.

Numbly, he flips to the next page, if only to feel his fingertips, which graze the pages of Taeyong’s work.

> **ON THE COUCH IN HIS OFFICE**
> 
> **(PRELUDE)**  
>    
> 
> 
> Springs whine and whine the leather,  
>  The clean face of the cushion groans;  
>  Perspiration numbers each single  
>  Fingerprint and wandering touch of limbs.
> 
> From whining mouth and louder  
>  Cries I wrap him warm,  
>  And touch his soft boyish mouth  
>  With my trembling own.  
>    
> 
> 
> Between us pleasure, ascending,  
>  Fear of its impermanence hovering above;  
>  And in my heart how I wished for it to be an unending  
>  Ache of rapture and love.
> 
> **DEDICATION**
> 
> _To Jung Jaehyun, with fondness and hope that you will send a favorable reply._

* * *

Dear Mr. Lee,

Our staff has reviewed your manuscript ( _A Painful Case of Skeletons in his Office: Why Jung Jaehyun Shouldn't Stop at Boning Lee Taeyong and Consider Dating Him_ ; 275 pages) and unfortunately found your work to be unsuited to our current plans for future publishing. The entirety of the work is remarkable. “The Curse of Eros,” “Peaches on Valentine’s Day,” “Walking Dreams in the Streets of LA,” and “Your Agony, Your Fate” most especially caught our attention. However, as the work contains explicit references to one of our staff members—whose name, you must know, is recognizable in the circles you wish your work to be published—we suggest that it be sent through a rigorous editing process first before matters of publication may be considered. Our editor-in-chief, Jung Jaehyun, will gladly assist you with the process, as well as further discuss themes present in your work (i.e., dating, among other concerns) which he is personally invested in. Otherwise, we stand firm with our decision to pass cooperating with you on this work.

If you provided the appropriate return envelope, your manuscript is being returned to you. If not, it has been recycled.

Thank you again for thinking of our publishing house and giving us the opportunity to consider your manuscript. We wish you every success in all your future endeavors.

Yours sincerely,

The Editorial Team  
Reviewed and signed accordingly by Jung Jaehyun, Editor-in-Chief

P.S. This is addressed to you with equal fondness and hope that you will also send a favorable reply.

* * *

Dear Mr. Jung,

Thanks for your most favorable response. It has made my otherwise dismal week (As you know, the sun likes to bake my living room, but I haven’t been able to do anything but lounge around it and stuff my face and whining chatterhole with pastries while I awaited your reply). I am glad to learn of your personal approval, as well as that of your team’s, of course. On matters of editing before publication, I’m afraid I have to indicate that it won’t be necessary; I didn’t write what I did with the intention of having the work be published. Hearing your opinion of it brings me satisfaction enough. I am, however, very willing to take you up on that meeting.

Tell me, where shall it be? Anywhere will be fine, as long as we get to talk. Send me an answer as soon as you can. But don’t take too long lest I become a soggy cake in my living room.

Yours now, I suppose,  
  
Lee Taeyong

**Author's Note:**

> and that revokes my v-card re: use of the 'anal sex' tag (yes it's my first time writing something like this so please be gentle COUGHS and sorry if it's cloying or anything i think i kind of bombarded it with details). special thanks to nikki (@blueyongs_) for holding my hand throughout the whole thing. god knows how much i screamed and wanted to give up on this late b-day fic turned pride fic. they're the best.
> 
> anyway, i hope you guys enjoyed reading this! would love to hear any thoughts or reactions. have a good day! and happy pride month! c; oh, and if you had time to read this, maybe you can consider looking through this too: [ current global issues ](https://currentinfo.carrd.co/)
> 
> [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/lotsofbluejaes) | [ curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lotsofbluejaes)


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